Reactions, Counterreactions, and Bare Justice
by Cynara
Summary: Harry reacts, someone else reacts, and Justice is --barely-- served. Character Death Complete.
1. Reactions

Reaction, Counter-reactions, Bare Justice 

PG-13

Disclaimer: It's all JKR's.  Except Snape.  I don't give a damn what the legal authorities say; he's mine!

A/N:  This has been floating around in the vast empty space known as my head for far too long a time.  It should only take two chapters, don't worry.

A/N2:  Elas rédre, sierek onradtel éan.  Itish ar ná poedaer tálen sier etaro.  Sier téo jástro aedgárd cy lika. :) Sier am mésad!

((0))

            It was the second week of the new school year, and Snape was already in a foul mood.  For his next class was the most dreaded one: sixth-year Gryffindor/Slytherin Potions.  For some reason, that fool Dumbledore persevered in putting together the two classes with the most enmity between them, year after year.  

            He swept into the Potions classroom and allowed his momentum to carried him smoothly and menacingly to the front of the room.  Snape turned sharply on his heel and leaned against his desk.

            "I _know_ that all—" Snape's eye caught the eye of the young Malfoy, who smirked coolly, "—or at least _most_ of you are incapable of telling the difference between the most elementary of poisons and antidotes, despite my efforts over the last five years to drill some modicum of knowledge into your heads… However, it is your duty to learn and my unfortunate task to teach you intermediate Poisons and Antidotes to you this year—Mr. _Potter_!"

            Harry, who's eyes had been getting slightly unfocused, straightened up as the dark Professor bore down upon him.  "Ssorry, ssir,"  said Harry, who seemed to be having some difficulty with a heavy tongue.  "It wwoon' hhappen again."

            He received a cold, haughty glare from his teacher for his troubles, and Snape ground out, "And see that it doesn't, Potter.  I will not stand for a student sleeping in this class.  Twenty points from Gryffindor, and a detention tonight at 7:00."  Snape caught a whiff of Potter: a sort of smell that indicated poor hygiene.  No wonder that Weasley was leaning well away from his friend.   

            With a sneer of utter distaste on his face, Snape returned to his lecture on Poisons, Antidotes, and the general stupidity of most sixth-years, when he noticed the Potter child drifting off again.

            "Mr. Potter, _fifty_ points from Gryffindor House, and if you cannot control your urge to sleep in my class, you'll have detention for a week, as well!"  That certainly seemed  to wake him, although his eyes still seemed rather—bleary—behind the glasses.  Snape turned to the blackboard to outlined the basic formula that most Antidotes followed.

            And yet, not fifteen minutes, later, he distinctly heard Weasley hissing at Potter to awaken.  He whirled about in fury, and stopped dead; Weasley's blue eyes met him head on, and the boy said slowly, "Professor—Harry won't wake up!"

            In three quick strides, Snape was standing in front of Potter's desk.  He grabbed the boy's shoulder.  

            "Potter—Mr. _Potter_!  Hey!  Wake up!  Granger, run for Pomfrey—_now_, idiot girl!"  Snape bellowed, and Granger took off like a startled deer.  Snape shook the boy's arm; Harry's head lolled grotesquely, and the boy slowly toppled to the floor.  

            "Damn!" Snape cursed vehemently, "Everybody out!  Get out!"  He was only vaguely aware of the whole Slytherin sixth year exiting, and most of the Gryffindor sixths huddling to the back of the classroom.  Weasley and (oddly enough) Longbottom were the only ones with enough balls to defy the teacher and stay by their friend.

            Snape pinched Harry's arm; it didn't look good:  the flesh stayed white for a long moment, and then turned an ugly blue.  Snape pulled open an eyelid with the same type of results: the sliver of the pupil that could be seen was misted over, and when Snape let it go, the lid slowly closed over the glazed eye.  Potter was breathing—or was he?  It was hard to tell.  Pomfrey finally arrived with a breatheless Hermione in tow.  Snape stood.

            "Poison," he said, and turned to the Gryffindors as Pomfrey bent over the boy and started her work.  "Did anyone see Potter be given a drink in circumstances -at all- suspicious today?  Yesterday?"  A timid hand was put up in the back,  and Patil claimed to have seen Potter drink a black potion at supper the night before; Granger and Finnigan agreed, although the girl claimed (through her tears) that it was more of a dark green potion.

            "Do you know where the bottle might be?"  Snape growled.  Honestly, were these children simply too dense to know what information was needed, or did they hate Potter?  A moment's pause, then:  "In the pocket of his school robes."

            'Surprisingly helpful of you, Potter,' the Potions Master thought wryly, 'now just don't die!'  a thin bottle was drawn out of Potter's pocket.  The large nose twitched over the opening, and then a long, thin hand was quickly clamped over the bottle's mouth.

            "A common 24-hour poison.  A little too much Belladonna extract has caused—er," Snape looked absolutely revolted, which was a big enough surprise to most of the students.  "It has caused… Mr. Potter's body to start decomposing before he has actually died."  A few of the student left the dungeon at a run, hands clamped tightly over their mouths. "We can likely still save him, if we hurry.  After all, he's fairly healthy, isn't—"

            "Severus!"  Madame Pomfrey gasped, "He—he's—!"  Severus dropped to one knee beside the inert student, just as his cold, sweaty skin began to shimmer—and bruises appeared where none had been before.  The body stiffed, gasped a breath, and relaxed.  Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, was living no more.

            "Dammit!"  Snape howled, (Pomfrey was comforting a distraught Longbottom, and Granger and Weasley held each other as though to keep the truth out) and banged the floor of the classroom with both fists, until the soft, cool hands of Albus Dumbledore held him back with a surprising strength.  

            "He killed himself—he killed himself!"  Snape mutter over and over, and Albus replied in a grief-strained voice, "I know, my boy, I know."

((0))

            There!  Done.  *giggles*  That was fun!  I've never intentionally killed Harry before.  Well—not so horribly.  Well—ok, not that I've ever posted.  All spelling mistakes are to be blamed on 2:00 a.m. (yes, Aindel, again) and hungry, sharp-toothed ferrets.  Review, cuz it's not over yet!  Remember, we just got the reaction here.  Tune in next time for the counter-reaction and the justice.

  And remember:  If you can't trust a fellow Slyth, who can you trust?  

I SUPPORT A FRIENDLY SLYTHERIN HOUSE!

~Cy @---


	2. CounterReactions

Reactions, Counter-reactions, Bare Justice 

PG-13

Disclaimer: You know, I just realized that the fifth book isn't far off, in which, incidentally, everything belongs the JKR.  All I have to say is this:  If she hurts Snape in any way (Well, except for the Cruciatus Curse.  We _expect_ him to get that.) I will _make_ her regret it.

A/N:  I've known from the beginning what would happen in this chapter.  Translating the plot into suitable words is another matter entirely, though, and it requires a certain mood.

A/N2:  Rain cy Aind El, itish marleb sad nat dest pan, itish poedaer dés?  _Exarte readma!_

A/N3:  To put off the inevitable, I'll now respond to my reviews, since I'm itching to do that anyway.

Reviews:

Kateri:  Well, it's not like I trust my family, either.  Or my friends, for that matter; they're mostly Gryffs, with a Raven and a couple of Puffs for good measure.  There might be a couple Slyths in us (I certainly think so!), but they're well camouflaged.  I simply support the idea that one should be able to trust one's Housemates, no matter who you're up against.  And as for what's next, well—read on, dear Reader!

Lei Dumbledore:  Yes, Harry quite stone dead, and I intend to keep him in such state.  Let me tell you, I really enjoyed killing him, too.  You know, I've just realized that in all my stories contain character death, or will soon.  Woo hoo!  Go me!

And yes, Harry most certainly _is_ allowed to die.  I killed him meself!  I'm so proud.

Die, Harry, die, -die-, DIE!!!  HAHAHA!!!  That puts me in a really good mood.

Tantz:  Wow, you reviewed –my- story!  I'm honoured!  Radical, good, but… You think I was cruel to my darling Sev?  No, BAD Cy!  *slams head on monitor*  Now, then, I would have had Sev save Harry, but—erm… *looks around for an excuse, but can't think of one fast enough*  I just really, really enjoy killing Harry as gruesomely as I can.  Voldemort is still around, yes, which is rather pivotal to this chapter, and Dumbledore didn't actually know that Harry was going to doff himself.  It's just one of those comforting things one says when there's really nothing to comfort with.

Angel Baby:  You know, it's people like you who make it so much to kill off the main characters of books.  Of course, it's always fun killing Harry, anyway.  Heh.  I'm not psychotic, really, I just enjoy gruelling deaths.  Here's the "next one", but I can't post quickly—because of… erm, a very strict, uh, Secret Code of Posting.  Yes, that's it.  Yes.  Right.  If you are confused, here's a flyby:  (1) Harry is dead.  (2) Harry committed suicide due to reasons unknown, which will become clear in this chapter.  (3) Voldemort's still around.

MoonFire:  *grins*  Yeah, Harry's not to likely to do too much of anything anymore.  One of the common side-effects of being… well, dead.  Justice is coming right up.  I think you'll like it.

Aindel:  Last one actually didn't show up.  Bloody comp.  Sier dármen itish thát read (really need to come up with a word for that one) telp é.  Sier sraida lika!  Ga itish thátná ta og silo tanepar todier lika, ga :P!  

Jess Scefing:  Well, I would have stopped him, but I really didn't want to.  The entire point of the fic was to see the reactions to Harry's death.  Thusly, I felt it to be necessary for Harry to actually knock off.  I know the pre-death decomposition was icky; it's why it was there. And thank you!  I've read some pretty sick Karkaroff torture; really good.  Do the Pine Martins actually work? 

((0))

            The former Boy-Who-Lived's body had been laid on a bed behind a curtain in the Hospital Wing, which was now closed to all but the most serious cases.  Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore were standing by the corpse, along with Madame Pomfrey, who couldn't look at Harry without breaking into fresh sobs.

            "There is a charm—a spell that can be performed,"  Minerva whispered softly, as though she did not dare to break the silence.  "It will call up the remaining part of Harry's spirit.  Perhaps that will tell us why—why he felt he—why—"  she could not continue, and turned away as well.

            Snape nodded, considering.  "The _Doe Hithla El_," he recollected.  "It would give us some answers at least, Albus, and perhaps even a direction to work in from here."

            The aged Headmaster said nothing for a long while, so long that Snape had nearly given up on him answering.  There were new lines of sorrow on Albus' face, and the older lines were deeper than Snape had ever seen them.

            "Yes," he finally said, and cleared his throat.  "Yes, I think that would be for the best.  Madame Pomfrey, will you…?"  The school Matron shook her head and, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, hurried out of the partitioned area.  The three remaining people each positioned themselves at each side of the cold hospital bed, and stood murmuring quietly for a moment.  As they still stood with their heads bowed, a faint glow slowly rose from Harry Potter's body.  It took the shape of a familiar body; the face looked peaceful, if very tired.

            "I suppose you couldn't have just let me go?" Harry reproached his teachers quietly.  At the negative reply, he shook his own transparent head, and smiled sadly.  "No, I guess not.  And you want to know -why- I did it, right?"

            "Of course we do, Harry.  If only you had let us help you—" Dumbledore began, only to be cut off by a sharp wave of Harry's hand.

            "You couldn't have helped," Harry told him, with only the faintest hint of regret evident in face and voice.  "I didn't –want- help.  I wanted peace.  I still want peace; but it is only another hour I have to be here, so it doesn't matter."

            McGonagall lifted her eyes to meet his.  "We only want to know Harry:  What made you do –That-?"

            The pale lips pursed thoughtfully.  "Do you really want to know?  You want to know what my life was?  You do."  And so Harry told them.

            The next half hour was a litany of recounted beating, tales of slavery, and utter horror that left Dumbledore pale and Minerva shaking.  Snape's face was a cold mask that could not be broken, but his eyes were unseeing.  A silence as thick as snow fell over the room.  

            Harry cleared his non-existent throat and lifted his hand to scratch his head.  "So now you know," he said finally, "It was alright before, but when I started having nightmares about it… I knew that it was over; I'd never be free."  His misty eyes grew pleading; pleading for a final understanding that he had never been granted in life. "I –had- to be free.  You recognize that, don't you?  It was that or—" Harry shuddered, "go insane.  I made my choice.  But now, it's time for me to finally go.

            "Professor Dumbledore—keep fighting against Voldemort.  I—I was the hero that you all thought I was, so it's better I'm gone than you find that out too late.  

            "Professor McGonagall, you were like a mother to me, and I'm glad that I got to know you like that.  You kept me from the edge for so long, for so many years—I'm sorry that it was inevitable that I fall.  Tell Hermione and Ron and all the Weasleys that I loved them; especially Ginny. I'll miss them all a lot; I'll be waiting for them.

            "Sna— -Professor- Snape, just—just don't blame yourself, ok?  It was an accident to die in your class, and I meant to die at night, but… I guess things just went wrong.  You couldn't have stopped me, so don't think about it anymore." Snape's face twitched, and that was all.

            Harry looked up sharply then, and smiled.   With a 'Goodbye' that sounded more like an afterthought, a habit made out of politeness, Harry rose up.  It seemed as though he was being pulled to his feet by two sets of hands, and the faint smell of fur and lilies filled the air around the bed.

            The Boy-Who-Lived was then truly gone, leaving behind nothing but memory and a cold, battered piece of flesh.

            And a beetle who was balance on the rod of the curtains shook its wings in the satisfaction of a good story.

((0))

A/N:  Ugh.  So… so _sappy_!  At least the next chapter'll be some good.  I turned out to be too damned lazy to write the rest tonight, but I figured that I owe my readers at least some vague sign that I'm alive.

  Well, I'm not.  I'm stone dead at this moment; just as dead as Harry is right now.  So piss off, while my spirit goes and walks the dog.

Right.  Remember to review!

~Cy @---


	3. Bare Justice

Reactions, Counter-Reactions, Bare Justice 

PG-13

Disclaimer:  I'm sure that you get the point:  If I owned this Universe, Snape and very possibly Jack Sparrow would be my personal sex slaves, this fic wouldn't be here right now, and I would never, ever again type the word 'disclaimer'.  As things stand right now, I reckon I should just say that I OWN NOTHING!

A/N:  Yeah, yeah, I know.  I take too damn long to update.  It takes a very specific mood to write a story like this, as well as the build-up of several reasons for writing it.  Here are the reasons that this chapter is here right now:  1)  On Thursday, I felt a vague urge to do something nice for Aindel, and she had happened to mention this fic for some reason, at least four days prior to said odd urge.  2)  This morning at work, I discovered the basic opening paragraph in the depths of my sleep-deprived mind, and I got a strange sense that I should write this chapter NOW.  3)  Upon having gotten home and quickly forgotten all aforementioned senses and urges, I went on the computer.  I joined a new role-playing site.  I emptied out my email so that the little form confirming my entry could come through.  I saw about eight review notices, seven of which were from lighted eagle, and one of which was a review for this story.  So here I am.  Enjoy this little piece of sunshiny murder with your day!

A/N2:  Let it be known to all that I have just called Aindel, and ransomed this chapter to her for two chapters of her _Pirates_ and _Wrong Turn_ fics each, and…AND!  I made her admit in front of her family that she's going to be writing about me snogging Snape.  Then, I found a bottle of wine simply sitting around.  A happy day for the house of Steenburg all, in all. 

((*))

            Away in a seldom-visited wing of the Malfoy estate, the Dark Lord flung down his copy of _The Prophet_ with an inelegant, "Fuck!"

            "My Lord, I realize it is upsetting—" Peter Pettigrew began, before being interrupted by a tea mug in the face.

            Lucius stepped in smoothly, though subservient nonetheless, "Does it matter so how the Potter child died, even if it was not by your hand?  The Light boy-Hero is dead, and you may now…"  He swallowed at the look on his Master's face. "…May now, um…"

            Voldemort stood up abruptly, and paced about the large breakfast-room.  "Did you read the Skeeter woman's article?  Such a story of child abuse… by Muggles, and upon a Wizard, no less.  It was so specific; how could it be false?  Damnable Muggles!"  The great Dark Wizard was more haunted then he would care to admit by the story of a childhood that seemed so similar to his own.  The very thought of any Muggle laying a hand on a Wizard, even if it was his own "archenemy"…!  

            He spun around in sudden decision, so quickly that Pettigrew, who was cautiously feeling his teeth, flinched, and even proud Lucius blinked to hide the flash of fear in his eyes.  

            "Call my Servants, Lucius," Voldemort commanded, "I need to find an address that has been very well-guarded, indeed."

((*))

_            **MUGGLE HOME DESTROYED—**_

**_            Thought to be the work of Dark witches or wizards unknown_**

Rita Skeeter—Special Correspondent 

_Early this morning, between the hours of 3 and 5 a.m., a Muggle house in Little Whinging, Surrey, was raided and set ablaze by wizards or witches unknown.  The Dark Mark was seen floating over the site of destruction by an inhabitant of Little Whinging, although the Ministry officials present at the scene of the incident.  No survivors…_

            "…were found, and all of the current inhabitants of the house were accounted for."  Dumbledore looked sharply at the Heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses.  

            "Really, Albus, I cannot imagine why _I_ have been called here.  I certainly have no more information then the next Order Member," Minerva McGonagall glowered primly at Severus Snape, whose face resembled a tall glass of curdled milk.

            "Go on, then Minerva, and shut the door behind you!" Albus acknowledged grudgingly.  He peered askance at Snape over the rims of his spectacles.  "Well?"

            Snape snorted grimly.  "I have nothing to say, Albus."

            Dumbledore sighed.  "My dear boy—" he began, but Snape interrupted ferociously.

            "Now, with your leave, there are papers to be marked, and I'd like to turn in early.  I haven't been sleeping well lately."  He turned on his heel, and went to the door.  On the threshold, he turned back.  "Oh, and Voldemort was planning some sort of murder at the meeting last night… it must have slipped my mind until just now."

            Dumbledore gave a long pause, and then leaned back in his chair.  "Severus…" he started warningly, and Snape met his eyes squarely.  They were utterly void of any emotion at all.  Albus revised what he had been about to say.  "There is blood on your robes."

            Severus Snape looked down quietly, and fingered the crustiness on the edge of his sleeve, and then he swept away without another word.

)((_Sraid'a_))(

A/N: Finito!  Now you may kill me.  But I'd really rather you just review.

Aindel, you know what you own me.

Reviews:

L'Ange de Mort:  Yeah, well, Merry Christmas, the story's all finished, now.

Angel Baby:  I hear you!  I actually have a dog _and_ a cat.  It does get easier:  I don't take care of either of them!  Hah!  And thanks, a couple of you seem to think I carried this off fairly well.  I must say, I didn't really like it, at the last two chapters.

Shadow Wolf:  Thanks very much!

Aindel:  I'll be gracious, and just rub your nose into the fact that you owe me four chapters, plus now your parents are likely seriously considering your mental state _offline_.  Where people we actually know can hear it.

Terra4:  No, he doesn't, no, no one does, and yes, Sev does get his share of the fun.  Weasley is our King!

lighted eagle:  You are now one of my favourite people!  Thank you for all the reviews!  Thank you, I revel in "icky", and yes, I have read the fifth book, and I must tell you two things: a) Denial is bad, b) I laughed when Sirius died.  It really tickled me.  Sorry for the loss.


End file.
